


The First Nöel

by JBankai89



Series: The Twelve Days of Smutmas [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animals, Christmas, Christmas Themed, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: “Somehow you're not quite as irritating when you're praising me.”“You know, compliments that are complimenting yourself don't count as compliments.”“Of course they do, how else will you know how much of a delight I am to be with?”Harry and Draco have been through some rough patches, but neither of them are entirely prepared for their first Christmas together...





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have been sitting on this project for nearly a month and a half, and I am so excited to finally share it with you all. Welcome to The Twelve Days of Smutmas, where I will be posting one smutty oneshot a day (some with plot, some without) up until Christmas. Every single pairing are different M/M or M/M/M pairings, and none are related so you can read them in any order you like. Just be sure to read the tags on each story, I cover a lot of topics in these stories and I wouldn't want to accidentally squick someone. And before you ask, _**no**_ I am not writing sequels to any of these oneshots.
> 
> Please remember that all 12 of these stories were written in 25 days, and then the edits were done in 12-13 days. Due to time constraints and the fact that I'm also working on a number of other things at the same time (as well as doing holiday prep for Yule and Saturnalia) the writing in these may not be up to my usual standard. I did my best and overall I am very proud of these, but here and there there might be a hiccup in the editing. Any fuckups you feel the need to point out to me in the comments would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> Overall Warnings: Like I said, all these stories will be different, and will vary from fluffy established relationship cuteness to first times to alcohol fuelled fuckfests(and a little bit of twincest). For particulars, be sure that you check the tags on each fic. There will be no underage pairings, the closest I will come to underage is 17, which is an adult by wizarding standards, and the age of consent in my country (and the UK too, I think) is 16, and so by that logic, I do not feel inclined to tag those stories as Underage. Again, be sure to **read the tags** if you are worried of coming across something that might squick you. The only story with an applicable Archive warning will be the 9th story to go up, which will be posted on December 22nd. There is a sequence of violence and mild gore in it, but apart from that one, all of these stories are pretty tame.

Special thanks to Faladrast for the awesome graphic! Check them out on [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/Faladrast-118654891940425/?fref=ts) or at [**http://faladrast.weebly.com/**](http://faladrast.weebly.com/)

* * *

The First Noel

 

Harry stood in the front hall of his cozy Hogsmeade home, everything about it a far cry from the dank and depressing atmosphere that Grimmauld Place had had. Harry would have said that his home was perfect, except for _one_ thing.

Harry had his wand out, and was trying in vain to convince the mirror that was hung up next to his front door to stop spouting hair care tips at him every time he passed it by.

“Not to worry my dear,” it said in its reedy, maternal voice, “a simple application of Mistress Magda's All-Purpose Hair Potion will give you hair soft as silk—”

“I don't need any damn hair potion,” Harry grumbled, and flicked his wand at it again, but it merely responded with a similar statement in the same tone.

“A small measure of a Cedarwood Poultice will help to smooth your unruly locks—” it continued, and Harry groaned in frustration.

“I give up,” Harry grumbled, and tucked his wand back into the waistband of his jeans. Just then, the front door burst open and amidst the thick, fluffy snowflakes that fell stood Draco Malfoy, his lip curled in a trademark sneer.

“Well, well, well...would you look who it is,” Draco said in his familiar drawl as Harry turned to face him and rolled his eyes. “ _Saint Potter,_ Chosen One Potter, everyone's favourite bespectacled boy-hero.”

“Are you planning on doing that _every_ time you come home, Draco?” Harry asked while he arched an eyebrow at the blond. “We've lived together for _six_ months, don't you think it's about time you found a new routine?”

Draco shrugged as he stepped inside and pulled off his winter cloak, shaking the snow off the suede before he hung it up. Without a word, he swept over to Harry and captured his mouth in a kiss.

“It's the little things in life that keep me entertained,” Draco purred as he slid his hand down Harry's spine to give Harry's buttocks a sharp squeeze. He stepped out of his boots and moved farther inside as he asked, “did you have a good day?”

“That mirror you bought is still telling me which hair-care potions would flatten my hair,” Harry said with a scowl, to which Draco smirked. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Draco had bought such a mirror on purpose, but he had yet to come up with any evidence to support that claim other than his live-in boyfriend's history of being a bit of a prat.

“Other than that, not really,” Harry continued, falling in step with Draco as they headed towards the kitchen. “I spoke to Professor McGonagall again, but she thinks that twenty-five is still too young to take on a professorship.”

Harry paused when they reached their destination and conjured a pair of teacups and a plate of biscuits onto their breakfast bar for them. Draco sat down and began to pour out the tea. “She offered me a junior professorship, sort of like the current Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's assistant. I might take her up on it, this housewife routine is beginning to drive me mental. I have no idea how Molly does it.”

“Probably because she has more children and grandchildren than she knows what to do with, and you just have me,” Draco pointed out as he pushed Harry's teacup over.

“Which amounts to the same thing when you think about it,” Harry replied with a grin, and Draco shrugged again—it wasn't like he could deny it. “So in line with the housewife routine...” Harry's voice took on a high lilt, “how was work, dear?”

“If I have one more idiot come to the shop and ask for some sort of sweet spiked with Amortentia, I might actually kill someone,” Draco grumbled as he sipped his tea. “Why is it that round the holidays people feel compelled to seek out my services because they think I'll brew them poison or some sort of date-rape potion?”

“It's not because it's you,” Harry said, “they just want the best.”

“Oh I know I'm good—”

“—and so modest,” Harry cut in sarcastically, and Draco glared at him.

“Unfortunately, it takes more than a handful of years for the old prejudices to die,” Draco continued sourly, “people still seem genuinely shocked when they realize that I'm no more a Death Eater than you are these days.”

“You're better,” Harry responded at once, his voice dropping a little as he looked on to Draco with admiration, “because you not only learned from your mistakes, you made up for them tenfold.” Harry leant in to kiss him gently, and Draco lifted a hand to cradle the back of Harry's head, drawing out the kiss for a little longer. Draco tasted of almonds and chocolate, of the tea he'd been nursing, and smelled almost intoxicating in that ridiculously overpriced cologne that he knew Harry loved on him.

“Somehow you're not quite as irritating when you're praising me,” Draco purred as their lips parted, one of his dainty, aristocratic hands moving to cradle Harry's cheek while he smiled warmly at Harry. He chuckled, and pecked Draco's lips again.

“You know, compliments that are complimenting yourself don't count as compliments,” Harry murmured, his mouth still twitching at the corners into something close to a smile.

“Of course they do, how else will you know how much of a delight I am to be with?” Harry snorted derisively to Draco's statement.

“Oh you think you're _so_ impressive,” Harry said, and Draco smirked again.

“I _am_ so impressive. Five years and that hasn't sunk in yet?”

“Hmm, you'll just have to teach me again,” Harry murmured, and Draco smirked as his hand dropped between Harry's thighs.

“Role reversal tonight? Aren't you usually the one teaching _me_ a lesson?”

“Well, sometimes the teacher must learn from his pupil,” Harry said as he captured Draco's lips in another kiss, and Draco immediately clambered into his lap. Harry linked his arms at the small of his back to hold him in place, but they were impeded from going any further by a certain frizzy-haired brunette that tumbled out of their kitchen fireplace at the same moment that Harry shifted one of his hands to rest it atop Draco's silver belt buckle.

“Harry, I just—oh,” Hermione stopped short and went rather red when the pair turned to her, Draco still perched in Harry's lap, and their robes leaving positively _nothing_ to the imagination.

“Hermione,” Harry growled, not bothering to dampen his frustration at her, “how many times have I asked you to _not_ barge in? I might just start playing Master of Pain with Draco in the kitchen just so you'll think twice before you jump into the Floo.”

Hermione's red face deepened to a shade closer to magenta, while Draco's cheeks tinged a faint pink, and he glared at Harry with a look that clearly said, _you better be joking_.

“Sorry Harry,” she said meekly, then held up a letter that she'd been holding. Even from a distance he recognized his own untidy handwriting and bit back a groan. He had a feeling he knew exactly what this impromptu visit was about. “I just...I wanted to ask you about this letter—Molly said she got one too, and I just don't understand, why don't you want to spend Christmas with us this year?”

“I don't _not_ want to spend Christmas with you guys,” Harry said, while he released Draco so that he could slide out of his lap and back to his own seat, looking exceptionally irritated. “But this will be my and Draco's first Christmas together—like in the same house together. We just wanted a quiet Christmas instead of an insane one with the Weasleys. I told you I'd come round on Boxing Day.”

Harry had covered all of this in his letter, but clearly that wasn't enough for Hermione, as even with his statements backing up the letters he'd sent, it didn't seem to be sinking in.

“But—”

“—Bill and Fleur spent their first Christmas together alone, as I recall,” Harry began, but was quickly cut off by her again.

“That's different Harry,” Hermione protested, “they were marri—oh.”

Instantly, the temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop by several degrees.

Despite the fact that homosexuality wasn't frowned upon in the wizarding world, marriage and bonding ceremonies were still restricted to straight couples, because they could produce heirs naturally, while same-sex couples could not. Draco and Harry had been waiting to see if the new legislation enabling them to marry would go through, but when it had once more been stopped by the doddering old fools in the Wizengamot, the couple caved and just moved in together. For the moment, it was as close as they could get.

Harry took Draco's hand pointedly, then continued. “We want to spend our first Christmas together, it's not like we don't want to spend time with you,” Draco opened his mouth to cut in, but a look from Harry made him snap it shut again. “We just...this first one is special, y'know?”

Shamefaced, Hermione nodded with a small smile.

“Oh Harry, I know,” she said sadly, and circled the breakfast bar to hug him tightly. “I'm sorry, it really didn't occur to me like that, and of _course_ you'd want this first Christmas in this house to be special, I didn't mean to be so—so...”

“Simpleminded?” Draco offered, and Harry kicked him under the bar.

“You have a lot on your plate Hermione,” Harry said with a weak smile, “kids, Ron, your career, it's a lot. It's not a big deal that it slipped your mind.” In point of fact, it _was_ a big deal, given that she was supposed to be in the Department of Magical Law and therefore she should have known better, but for the moment Harry decided to let it slide.

“Oh Harry that's no excuse for me barging in like I did,” she said, her tone remorseful, “I'll missing seeing you on Christmas, is all.”

“I'm not going to Siberia, Hermione,” Harry said with a short laugh, “it's one day's difference, it's not the end of the world.”

Hermione smiled meekly, threw her arms around Harry in another quick hug, and hurried back to the Floo. She was gone in a flash of green, without so much as a backward glance.

“I always say my day isn't complete until Granger barges in and calls into question every life decision either one of us makes,” Draco grumbled as he brought his teacup to his lips, grimaced, and tapped it once with his wand to reheat it.

“Well at least she doesn't think you're planning on murdering me in my sleep any more. I won't miss the casual evening visits at eleven o'clock at night,” Harry said, turning back to his own tea.

“I don't know, I rather enjoyed her reaction to our brief foray into bondage,” Draco replied with a chuckle, and Harry couldn't help but bark a laugh. He could still remember in perfect detail her horrified reaction to the sight of Draco tied down to their bed, his fair body carrying all the hallmarks of an overenthusiastic spanking and whipping, and Harry pounding his sweet arse passionately.

“It did take rather a long time to convince her that I _wasn't_ abusing you,” Harry mused as he regarded his impeccably tidy kitchen. With no job to speak of and way too much free time on his hands, he found himself cleaning house nearly as often as Aunt Petunia used to. “At least it showed that she doesn't hate you any more.”

“Small comfort for those agonized looks she used to give me,” Draco muttered, his tone laced with annoyance.

“Yes, well, she's over it at least,” Harry said as he stood up and stretched, then rounded the bar to head farther into the kitchen, “what do you feel like for dinner?”

“Lobster Thermidor aux Crevettes with a Mornay sauce garnished with truffle pâté and brandy,” Draco deadpanned, and Harry snorted.

“Want a fried egg on top and spam with that?” He joked, then barked a laugh at the look of absolute disgust that crossed Draco's features.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Draco asked, aghast.

“Never mind,” Harry said, still chuckling. Muggle humour always went over Draco's head at the best of times, but sometimes his reactions were just priceless. “Shepherd's pie okay?”

“Yeah all right,” Draco said cradling his chin in his hand while he watched Harry work. Harry didn't mind cooking, but there was always something so weirdly _domestic_ about it. The thought made Harry smile as he began to summon the various ingredients he needed from around the kitchen.

“You know,” Harry said conversationally, “one of these days you _will_ need to learn how to cook. I've no idea how you can be so proficient at potions but abysmal at making _toast_...”

“Excuse me if I'd rather devote my time to the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making, instead of learning how to boil an egg,” Draco replied with a slight smirk. Harry shook his head a little, and went back to his task, which was made rather difficult by the way Draco was staring at him with unabashed lust in his eyes. Clearly, Hermione's impromptu visit hadn't dampened his arousal at all.

“Yes, well, woe betide you when I get an actual job and am not around to cook for you any more. I'll probably come back to a burned-down house and you explaining that you tried to boil water for tea or something...” Harry said, his grin widening when he heard his boyfriend sputter indignantly.

“Excuse me Potter, I am not _that_ inept,” Draco said, “Besides, if you aren't around to cook for me, I'll just get a house elf.”

“Do you _want_ Hermione barging in here every day telling you that you're...what was it...oh, _supporting a corrupt system_?” Harry turned back from the cooker long enough to see Draco snort in a most undignified way.

“You're starting to sound like me, I'm sure Weasley will be _thrilled_.”

“It's been mentioned,” Harry replied with a shrug. “I guess that's what happens when you date someone for five years. You're not one to talk though, and you know it.”

“ _Puh_ -lease, as if any of your uncouth behaviour would ever rub off on _me_. I am the embodiment of the higher class.”

“Which is why you're eating such high-end food like shepherd's pie?” Harry asked, and grinned when his comment was met with silence.

“Shut up Harry.”

 

~*~

 

In the lead-up to Christmas, Harry found himself sequestered away in their Hogsmeade cottage, feeling more and more like the epithet _housewife_ fit him a little too well with each passing day. It was frustrating, and he hated that he was too famous for such menial jobs as a clerk at a shop, and Draco didn't trust him near his wares, having had far too many Potions lessons with him. Harry didn't think this was a very fair assessment; he wasn't _that_ bad at Potions.

Out of a desperate need to have something to do other than clean house and cook, he took McGonagall up on her teaching offer, and was informed that he was due to start at the beginning of the next Autumn term. This news almost made him weep; _eight_ months between now and then, and still he had nothing to fill his time with.

Harry decided one crisp Thursday afternoon to begin decorating for Christmas. He'd left it rather late, but he and Draco never could agree on decorations and thus had never gotten started on it. Harry complained that Draco's preferred decorations were too minimalist, while Draco complained that Harry's were too gaudy. Harry also needed to find a gift for him, which was about as easy as finding an Animagus at an animal shelter.

Upon reaching Diagon Alley, Harry made his way into one of the seasonal shops, _Ivy and Clover_ , and the moment he crossed the threshold and took in the vast amounts of Christmas _everything,_ he decided to go all-out, and deck his halls how _he_ wanted. It wasn't like Draco would be home enough to enjoy them, anyway.

Harry bought a waterless evergreen tree, baubles and garlands in silver, gold, and green and red, fairy lights, garlands of ivy and holly, mistletoe for their doorways, stockings, Christmas-themed coffee mugs that sang different carols depending on what drink it was filled with, a wreath made with branches of fir, pine cones, silvery baubles and bells, and sprigs of holly, and a silver five-pointed star for the top of the tree.

As a final touch, Harry threw in a dozen or so figurines of Father Christmas in various sizes, a ceramic Christmas village, and a truly horrific Christmas jumper for himself. Bright green, with an elf pictured on the front with the words _Ho Ho Ho!_ In alternating red and white font. A number of bells had been sewn into the design, and it jingled merrily with every small movement. He grinned wickedly as the clerk packaged everything up and promised to have the goods delivered in a few hours. Draco was going to _kill_ him.

The decorations done with, Harry was able to turn to the question of what to get Draco for Christmas. This was always something of a challenge, given that the man was frustratingly picky, making him next to impossible to shop for.

Harry wandered up and down the Alley, looking in the windows of the various shops and ducking out of sight of the entrance to Draco's shop as he stepped passed it, smiling as he spotted the blond in deep conversation with an elderly customer out of the corner of his eye.

Harry wandered into the Apothecary, and perused the shelves while the clerk helped a woman who was apparently replenishing her child's Student Potion-Making Kit stores. Their discussion incited in Harry a wave of nostalgia, and he smiled to himself as he recalled Hagrid bringing him here for the first time, while his fingers brushed over the labels of some of the potions ingredients he wasn't familiar with—Basan Feathers, the Bark of a Tree Frog (though how one could bottle a sound was well beyond Harry's understanding), sandfish skin, toadstones, dried irises, and others which bore only their Latin names, and were so unrecognizable to him that he had no hope of identifying them.

“Mr Potter!” Harry turned when the clerk suddenly seemed to realize who he was, and Harry smiled meekly at the man. “good to see you, good to see you! What an honour to have you in our little shop! What can I do for you today?”

“I'm looking for a gift for someone...” Harry began awkwardly, uncomfortable with the way the man's eyes seemed to be fixed upon his scar.

“It wouldn't be a gift for the young Mr Malfoy, now would it?” He asked, and Harry felt his cheeks colour a little.

“He's a little difficult to shop for, but he is quite passionate about Potions. I thought maybe if you had some rare or unique ingredient that he might, erm, like?”

“I might have something,” he said thoughtfully, and broke out into a smile. “Wait right here Mr Potter, this item...we couldn't keep it on the sales floor, too valuable, wouldn't want someone to steal it, you understand. Just—right!” Harry stared as the man darted into the back room behind the till, and came out a few minutes later with something carefully cradled in his hands.

As he drew closer, Harry saw that it was a small jar filled with the dried skin of some kind of small reptile or amphibian. The bits of skin were a muted orange, but something told Harry that whilst living, the colour of this creature must have been a brilliant shade.

“Skin of the golden mantella frog,” the clerk whispered reverently as he held the jar. “Very powerful magical ingredient, _very_ hard to come by. I just got this season's batch in last week.”

“You mean...that tiny jar is an entire season's worth?” Harry asked, his tone bordering on incredulous. There couldn't have been more than nine or ten skins in the jar.

“The creature is endangered,” the clerk explained, “and the amount of skins we are allowed to procure is restricted by Madagascar's muggle and magical governments. We're lucky if we get in any skins at _all_ , Mr Potter. This is the first batch we've managed to acquire in three years.”

“I'm almost afraid to ask you the price for those things...” Harry said uncomfortably, his gaze focused on the little jar. Certainly Draco would appreciate the rarity of these things, even if Harry didn't much see the appeal.

“For anyone else, two hundred galleons apiece,” he said, “but for you, that for the lot, if you are so inclined, Mr Potter.”

The hopeful tone in which the clerk spoke to him made it difficult to say no, but Harry felt uncomfortable about being given such a large discount simply because of who he was. But the lure of something that Draco would not only appreciate, but be able to use practically was too much to ignore, and he paid the full regular price for the little jar of skins, cringing a little at the amount of galleons he handed over. Aside from the house, he'd never spent so much on one thing before.

As a precaution in case the skins were not to Draco's liking, Harry bought him a new bottle of his favourite cologne and their favourite rose-scented lubricant as a backup. Purchases made and expertly wrapped at the various gifting kiosks that had been set up throughout Diagon Alley, Harry headed home. He was certain the decorations had arrived by now, and he wanted everything set up before Draco got home. Grinning wickedly as he pictured what Draco's reaction was likely to be, he headed back to the Leaky Cauldron and took the Floo home.

  

~*~

  

“ _Merlin's beard_ , Harry! What the hell happened?” Draco stepped inside, his eyes wide as he took in the sight before him, and Harry grinned. “It looks like Christmas threw up in here!”

He wasn't wrong.

Harry had arranged the tree in front of their sitting room window, decorated with white fairy lights, the star, and the silver and gold baubles. The Christmas village was arranged on the fireplace mantle, and there was a figurine of Father Christmas on every step of the staircase leading up to the second floor. The hallways were decked with boughs of holly, strings of ivy, and mistletoe hung over every single doorway. The outside hedges had been garnished with multicoloured fairy lights and the wreath had been affixed to the door. The thing that seemed to draw Draco's eye the most however was Harry's perfectly horrid jumper, his nose wrinkling as he took the sight of it in.

Harry didn't answer, but instead stepped over to him and kissed him in welcome, Draco's mouth still cold from the outdoor chill. “Merry Christmas, Draco.”

“So it would seem,” Draco replied as he pulled Harry closer to kiss him again. “But don't you think it's a little much? Surely we can take down some of this stuff...”

“Absolutely not,” Harry answered softly, a wide grin spread over his face. Draco looked as though he was about to protest, but Harry stopped him with another kiss, his delightfully awful jumper jingling as he did so.

When they at last broke apart, Draco's eyes fell upon the few packages under the tree. His eyes glimmered with curiosity and want, but Harry grinned and shook his head.

“Don't even think about it. If you spoil our first Christmas in this house by peeking, I will kill you,” Harry said sweetly, his smile never wavering, and Draco appeared to be uncertain whether or not it was an empty threat. He took off his cloak and boots without getting clarification one way or the other, and Harry took his hand and led him to the sitting room.

Harry pressed one of the singing mugs into Draco's hands, filled to the brim with hot chocolate and marshmallows, and the depiction of Father Christmas was singing Oh Come, All Ye Faithful quite enthusiastically, in spite of the fact that it seemed to know only half the words. Draco stared at the mug with disgust; the expression upon his face made it very difficult for Harry to keep from laughing, especially when he glanced up, caught sight of his horrific jumper again, and the expression became more pronounced. After his vehement demand for simplistic and tasteful Christmas decoration, the reaction wasn't a surprising one. Instead of being upset by it however, Harry found it quite hilarious.

“Are you even going to give me a hint about what you got for me?” Draco asked, staring at Harry intently, giving him the impression that he was trying valiantly to ignore the singing mug in his hands.

“Nope,” Harry said with a grin, and scooped up his own mug, which depicted a singing elf mumbling the words to Silent Night. “You'll just have to wait and see. I'm sure you can manage waiting another five days to find out.”

Draco smirked, set aside the mug, and reached for Harry, threading his fingers through the front of Harry's jumper, and dragged him forward. Harry staggered, setting down the mug just in time as he stumbled into Draco's arms.

“I'll just have to _tease_ it out of you then,” Draco purred, leaning in to trail his tongue along the side of Harry's throat, eliciting a soft groan from him. His mouth returned to Harry's and he threw his arms over Draco's shoulders, letting out a soft groan as the blond's hands trailed downward to squeeze Harry's buttocks firmly. It took very little time for Draco's attentions to make their way to Harry's cock, and he groaned as he arched his hips, all but begging for contact, which was when Draco pulled back, and with a devilish smirk he fingered a wave and Disapparated to the second floor.

It took Harry a moment for what had happened to sink in, and in that time he heard the distinct rush of the shower turning on, and with a groan that was closer to a whine, he hurried upstairs to join him, only to let out a whine when he found the door locked, and he'd warded it against Apparition. Harry glared at the closed door and stomped off to have himself a wank.

 

The days passed in a flurry of activity. Harry spent his time researching how to cook a whole turkey, given that he had never done it before, while simultaneously trying to keep from murdering Draco and his incessant teasing, and the fact that his new jumper had mysteriously disappeared not long after the shower incident. The lack of sexual release left Harry feeling more than a little on edge, especially when Draco went off to work every day, leaving Harry home alone with nothing to occupy his time but household chores. The more time that passed, the more Harry really _did_ begin to feel like Draco's housewife.

“Oh Harry, you're being silly,” Hermione said with a huff as he relayed his worries to her over a cup of tea. It was the twenty-third, and Hermione was sitting upon one of his armchairs, little Rose bouncing on her knee, giggling and tugging on a lock of her mother's hair, with a wizarding catalogue propped open on the opposite one. “Men _and_ women can cook and clean, it's not gender-specific. Look at practically every famous chef in the muggle and wizarding worlds! They're nearly _all_ men! You're not...not Draco's housewife just because you're stuck at home! Besides, you'll be starting your job next September, right?”

“I am, but, I dunno...It just feels weird. You, Ron...Draco, all of you have _jobs_. I can't even get a job as a damn sales clerk because I'd get swarmed by well-meaning...fans,” Harry paused, grimacing at the word. “You'd think a shop owner would be pleased with so much free publicity...”

“Harry, you're being ridiculous,” Hermione said with another irritated huff, “if you lived alone who would be doing all the cooking and cleaning? _You._ Ron cooks at home, we both clean, it's not just my job. If it's bothering you so much, why not ask Draco to help you?”

“Ask Draco Malfoy to help clean house?” Harry asked with a snort, “I'm not sure he even knows what a feather duster is _for_.”

“I'm being serious, Harry!” Hermione cried, and the tot on her lap let out a garbled whine of complaint at her mother's tone. She hoisted Rose up higher and patted her back, and soon she was back to giggling and tugging on Hermione's hair again. “Look, I can guess that while you were growing up, it was your aunt doing all the household chores, right?”

“When it wasn't me doing them, yeah,” Harry said, his brow knitting together in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice shifting to a very parental tone, like someone explaining a very simple concept to a young child. “You grew up in a household of terrible people, and among other things, they _did_ view household tasks as 'women's work'. But tell me Harry...What gender is the Queen?”

Harry stared. From their dual muggle upbringing, it did not take much for him to guess which Queen she was referring to. He hadn't foggiest idea why she'd ask such an obvious question, however.

“Female,” he answered, confusion written all over his face as she arched a brow at him.

“And do you think the _Queen_ does the housework?”

“Well...no.”

“Draco still has both of his hands,” she said by way of explanation, “two dainty hands that are more than capable of helping out. You're not a feminine man just because you clean up, it means you're hygienic. Now stop being ridiculous, I came over here to have you help me pick something out for Ron, I can't decide which...” she trailed off, turning back to the catalogue in her lap, then began to flick to the earmarked pages.

Harry leant over to see the catalogue more clearly and wasn't surprised to see it was a selection of _New Arrivals_ from Flourish and Blotts. He was quite certain that Hermione had gotten Ron more than enough books over the years, but he knew better than to suggest such a thing to someone like Hermione. Instead Harry helped her select a book that Ron might actually read (though privately Harry doubted it), and kept his thoughts to himself.

“Okay, perfect!” She said, pulling a quill from her bag and flipped to the back of the book, and filled out the order form that was affixed there. “Now I just need to...” Hermione trailed off, and her face fell a little. “Well, I'll just send it off at the Post Office before I head home, lucky it's so close!”

Harry smiled weakly at Hermione's bright tone, and her clear effort to avoid voicing another tactless comment.

Eight years after the war, and Harry still had yet to acquire a new owl; he couldn't bring himself to replace Hedwig, and after Harry's explosion at Hermione two years earlier over the topic, everyone had learnt to steer clear of any mention of owls when he was around.

 

Hermione left a couple of hours later, and Harry found himself feeling much less self-conscious of his domesticity as he tidied up and got started on dinner. Hermione had been right, and Harry was embarrassed at how caught up in gender-specific tasks he'd gotten, thanks in no small part to his atrocious upbringing.

Harry smiled to himself as he manually peeled potatoes and chopped onions, while he entertained himself with mental images of Draco doing actual _housework_. He simply couldn't picture it, though Harry thought that perhaps he could convince Draco to do it by catering to his cross-dressing fetish and pick up a maid's uniform for him...

 

Harry was snapped from his mental image of Draco in skimpy black skirts, fishnets, and heels by the sound of the front door slamming and Draco stalking up to the breakfast bar sullenly. He looked incredibly stressed, and when Harry's confused expression did not get a response out of him, he tried a different tack.

“Hard day at work, dear?” Harry asked, putting on a high, girlish tone of voice, which earned him an annoyed glare. Harry paused what he was doing and flicked his wand, dropping a cup of tea with a generous measure of firewhisky added to it in front of him. Draco accepted the cup, and Harry waited until he had the drink to his lips before he asked, “so you gonna tell me what's crawled up your butt?”

Draco choked on his drink and Harry snorted a little, going back to his stew before Draco had a chance to hex him.

“It's nothing,” he said at last, casting a few charms to rid his face and robes of tea stains, “merely an ongoing project that's hit a...snag, so to speak.”

Harry flicked his wand once more at the pot, charming it to stir before he circled the breakfast bar and draped his arms over Draco's shoulders.

“Can I help?” Harry asked, and was surprised when the innocent question was met with a chuckle.

“No you may not,” Draco replied, “this project is top secret...for the time being.”

“For the time being?”

“I'll let you in on it Christmas Morning,” Draco drawled, and Harry groaned. The man was _evil_.

“You can't leave me hanging like that!” Harry protested, “come on, just give me a little hint!”

“No chance,” Draco replied with a chuckle, snaking his arms around Harry's waist to draw him closer, “I was a Slytherin, remember? We don't break that easily.”

“Yes you do,” Harry replied with a sly grin, and inched forward to grind into Draco's groin lightly, earning him a hiss in response. “One must simply know where to apply the pressure.”

“I can't believe you turned down Shacklebolt's offer of being an Auror,” Draco murmured, “your interrogation tactics are quite effective.”

“I'd rather use them just on you,” Harry replied with a grin, and pulled Draco in for a kiss.

 

~*~

 

Despite Harry's insistence that he wanted to spend a nice, quiet Christmas alone with Draco, he had to admit that it was a little strange, sitting with him in front of the fire, cradling mugs of warm mulled cider in their hands, and buried together under a thick duvet as they talked together quietly. Thick, fluffy snowflakes drifted past the window, and it was all so surreal, so _scenic_ , like something off a Christmas card. Harry shifted closer to Draco, smiling to himself, while Draco mirrored his movements and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist.

“This makes a nice change,” Draco said softly, “peace and quiet instead of the usual chaos you subject me to every Christmas Eve.” .

“You never minded the Burrow and you know it,” Harry replied, grinning when Draco didn't immediately answer. For whatever reason, the kids seemed to adore him, and he was always swarmed by Teddy and the Weasley children when they arrived. Draco's bids for freedom from them always reminded Harry of a dinosaur trying to run through tar.

“Oh yes,” Draco drawled, “who can forget the time when Teddy got chocolate handprints on my silk robes, or when little Victoire decided to 'fix' my _designer_ robes by colouring in the black and white patterns, or when that demon-child Fred II got his hands on his grandmother's pinking shears and—”

“Well, all right,” Harry cut in with a soft chuckle, “maybe your wardrobe has seen better days, but after the rubbish Christmases I had growing up, I always enjoyed the madness.” Harry smiled nostalgically as he thought of the last few Christmases they'd had at the Burrow, remembering the many times Harry had to 'rescue' Draco from the kids.

“I have no idea how you could even _smile_ with so many children hanging off you,” Draco muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “We could still go over, if you'd like to make your insanity quota for the season, or whatever.”

“No,” Harry said at once, and turned to kiss the corner of Draco's mouth. “I love going to the Burrow for Christmas. But this...this is good. Better than good.”

“This I can agree on,” Draco replied with a soft purr, and turned to kiss Harry fully on the mouth.

They went to bed that night warm and a little buzzed from their drink, and Harry felt so terribly at peace as he lay there spooning around Draco. He watched the snow fall past the window as he slowly fell asleep, comforted in the feel of Draco in his arms, the faint smell of the peppermint of his toothpaste, and the soft sound of his even breathing.

  

~*~

  

Harry was the first awake the following morning.

Draco looked so peaceful laying there, his hair a mess and pyjamas rumpled in the most endearing matter. After the last few days he'd spent worrying over whatever he had planned as a gift for him, Harry was loath to disturb him. He drew on his glasses as he slipped from the bed, pulled on his dressing gown and slippers, and tip-toed downstairs.

Humming carols to himself, Harry prepared a simple breakfast, and less than twenty minutes later Draco wandered downstairs, his hair immaculate, but still in his silk pyjamas as well as his dressing gown. Harry assumed he looked like a mess by comparison, but he found that he didn't care very much as he smiled warmly at his partner. Draco swept over to him and captured his mouth in a kiss, one Harry was all too happy to return.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Draco murmured against his mouth.

“Merry Christmas Draco,” Harry replied, smiling as he leant in for another kiss.

 

They breakfasted on sweet scones with tart jam and good, strong coffee, then transported the remaining coffee in the French press as well as their mugs (the normal, not singing kind) to the sitting room, where a modest pile of gifts had appeared overnight beneath their tree.

“Looks like Father Christmas paid us a visit,” Draco observed, and Harry laughed.

“Yeah, more like Molly Weasley paid us a visit,” he said as he plopped down next to the tree, while Draco sat back on the settee, still cradling his coffee in his hands.

Harry's eyes roved over the gifts, and spied one that was labelled for Draco, and the soft, pliable texture of the package gave Harry a fairly good idea what it was. Lower lip caught between his teeth to keep himself from grinning too broadly, he picked it up and handed it over.

Draco raised his eyebrows curiously as he accepted the package from Harry, and set down his mug to open it. Harry watched as curiosity shifted to surprise as he lifted a black jumper from the wrappings, with a silver dragon knitted onto the front.

“Congratulations,” Harry said, “you've officially received your first Weasley jumper.”

“I suppose this means they won't try and hex me under the table any more?” Draco asked, his mouth twitching into a small half-smile.

“George might,” Harry answered with a shrug, “but the others will probably have more tact.”

“Good to know,” Draco replied with a soft laugh, and Harry felt his heart warm as Draco shrugged off his dressing gown to pull the garment on. Harry was certain Draco would get embarrassed if Harry commented on how he seemed incapable of looking away from the thoughtful gift; it had to be nice to receive such a maternal gift, especially after his own parents had more or less disowned him some years earlier for daring to date a half-blood. Harry had a feeling it was akin to how he'd felt that first Christmas at Hogwarts, and he was awash with warm memories as he watched Draco.

 

When Harry was at last able to tear his eyes away from his partner, the couple worked their way through the pile of gifts from the Weasleys. Most of it consisted of small trinkets and baked good (as well as Harry's own annual Weasley jumper). Harry also received a tin of homemade toffees from Hagrid, which he set by the fire to soften before he dared try any.

There were only a few gifts left, and Harry handed Draco the three gifts he'd bought him, his heart in his throat.

His worry seemed to show on his face, as Draco thanked him more warmly than he normally would have for the small packages, and unwrapped the first and second quickly, and he knelt down next to Harry to kiss him in thanks.

“I'm sure we'll put this one to good use later tonight,” he purred, holding up the lubricant, and Harry grinned at the prospect. Draco pulled back somewhat reluctantly to turn to the last gift from Harry, and he watched as the wrappings fell away, Draco froze and his eyes went wide.

“Golden mantella skins...” he whispered, staring at the little jar as though Harry had gifted him with a gold ingot. Draco lifted it from the paper, turning it left and right as though he couldn't believe his eyes. “How on earth did you get these? I've been trying to find some for _years_.”

“One of the perks of being me, I guess,” Harry said with a weak shrug. Draco set the little jar down, and all but tackled Harry in a hard kiss. He laughed softly as he was pinned beneath the blond, who seemed determined to show his gratitude for the gift as thoroughly as possible.

“It's—it's perfect. I—thank you, Harry,” Draco whispered, and Harry smiled. He didn't know what to say in response that wouldn't sound terribly cheesy, and instead chose to answer Draco with another kiss.

“I'll just get yours,” Draco said at last as he straightened up. Harry was a little disappointed that it had ended so soon, but the glint of nervous anticipation in Draco's eye kept him from complaining. He headed back upstairs, and Harry listened to his soft footfalls as he ascended to the second level, followed by a strange scuffle against the wooden floors, followed by a despairing, _“no!_ ” from Draco.

Harry had begun to stand to see what had happened, when he stared wide-eyed as a tiny ball of black fur and pink tongue with a red bow around its neck came tumbling down the stairs and made straight for him. Draco appeared at the bottom of the stairs a moment later, cheeks flushed as the puppy leapt straight into Harry's arms, barking in its tiny, squeaking puppy voice.

 

For a moment, Harry had no idea what to say. He lifted the little labrador up, and it squirmed in his arms, barking again while its tail wagged so fast that it was little more than a blur. He (for Harry could see that the little creature was indeed a _he_ ) wormed his way forward and licked Harry's cheek, causing him to laugh softly.

“Why?” Harry asked at last, caught between shock and awe at the endearing and completely unexpected gift.

Draco stepped up to him, ignoring the pup completely for the moment and cupped Harry's cheek in his hand, then pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, which was quickly interrupted by the pup in Harry's arms, worming forward to share in the attention. They both laughed at the creature's antics, and Harry quickly set the canine down, where he circled their ankles, still yipping excitedly at them. Harry turned back to Draco.

“Because you haven't had a companion animal since...” Draco faltered, and tried again. “You haven't had a companion animal for a long time, I thought you would enjoy having someone other than me around to pester you.”

Harry snorted, but appreciated the tact. He pulled Draco forward by the collar of his new jumper and kissed him. Harry reached up to run his fingers through those silky strands of hair, while the puppy continued to race around their ankles excitedly. Draco rested a hand at the back of Harry's neck, and when he at last pulled away, Harry let out a whimper of longing.

“Let's do the thing properly,” Draco murmured, his eyes glazed over with the same lust that Harry felt. “Tonight, we'll make it special.”

 

Though Harry was now _dying_ for Christmas Night to come, it was made doubly worse by Draco's deliberate attempts to tease him as much as possible, and Harry still had a lot to do, which Draco was very successfully distracting him from, and this made everything take twice as long. Even for just two people, Harry was quickly learning that preparing a Christmas feast was no small undertaking, and he felt less like a home cook and more like a general leading an army into battle as he conducted a number of chopping knives, pots, spoons, and various foodstuffs with his wand, while he stood back and watched carefully to make sure he didn't muck anything up.

Around lunchtime he set everything under various charms to alert him when they were finished stewing, baking, roasting, or boiling, and he collapsed onto the sofa where Draco was taking his tea. The puppy tried to jump up with the couple, but was still too little to manage it, and let out a yelp as he made it halfway up, and began to slide off. Harry reached out and caught him, pulling the little canine up, and he promptly laid himself down in Harry's lap.

“He's going to need a name,” Draco observed, smiling warmly at the pair of them. The same thing had occurred to Harry, and the name came to him almost at once.

“Padfoot,” Harry said, and though Draco eyed him oddly at the choice of name, he seemed to sense that there was some special significance to it, and did not press it.

Still seated upon his lap, Padfoot yipped his approval.

Chuckling, Harry scratched Padfoot behind the ear, and eased back to rest his head against Draco's thigh. His fingers nestled in Harry's hair, and his eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation; he always loved it when his hair was played with.

“You never did tell me what the big crisis was from earlier this week,” Harry mumbled, and Draco stilled his fingers.

“Arguing with the shopkeeper on how to best sneak the little beast into the house without you hearing him,” Draco replied, and Padfoot whined.

“I think he heard you.”

Draco chuckled, but didn't comment as he resumed stoking Harry's hair, and it wasn't long before Harry nodded off.

  

~*~

 

Harry's Christmas easily rivalled those first few he'd had at Hogwarts. Their first Christmas, just the two of them, while Harry had wanted it, he had also worried that it may have felt lonely. However, with Padfoot on his heels and the afternoon whiled away either in front of the cooker or in front of the fire, it was far from what Harry would call _lonely_.

Draco seemed to agree, and Harry watched as his normally put-together, haughty expression melted away in favour of a soft look of adoration directed solely at Harry. He felt both embarrassed and pleased in equal measure, and it progressed well into the evening.

“Are you sure you'd rather not be a...househusband?” Draco asked Harry over dinner, dishes upon dishes playing as a stress test for their table, and Harry paused with a forkful of turkey and cranberry sauce halfway to his mouth, and the bright red bowler hat from his cracker slumped partway down his forehead.

“What makes you say that?” Harry asked, uncertain whether the comment was praise or not.

“Well, you are a better cook than Molly Weasley, and you didn't seem to hate running about today getting everything prepared,” Draco said with a shrug, and sipped his wine, though the attractive nonchalance he usually carried himself with was rather ruined by the ridiculous ten-gallon hat that he was wearing.

“I don't hate it,” Harry agreed, “but in small spurts. If I'm stuck at home all the time I'll go mad. I need to fill my days with something more than just cooking and cleaning.”

“Fair enough,” Draco said, the corner of his mouth quirking into a small smirk, “but if you ever decide to stay at home, I promise I'll still call you househusband, not housewife.”

“Did Hermione talk to you?” Harry asked, feeling a warmth creep up his neck as he tried to hide behind his wineglass.

“Granger did mention some silly thing about you correlating tidying up to having a vagina,” he replied blandly, “but you seem to be getting over that nicely.”

Harry smiled weakly, but didn't offer up a response.

 

As the evening progressed, Harry bore witness to a genuine Christmas Miracle as Draco stood up and helped him clear up after their Christmas pudding. With Padfoot distracted by a bowl of leftover turkey, they wrapped up the leftovers, Draco remarking that they'd have enough for the next fortnight, and Harry was careful to move anything potentially edible (and a few inedible things as well) out of the dog's reach.

Harry was bent over, placing a locking charm upon one of the pantries when a warm body moulded itself to Harry's back. Draco wrapped his arms securely around Harry's middle while he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of his neck, and Harry grinned.

“You've done enough for tonight,” Draco purred, “I don't want you so exhausted that I can't get a good Christmas shag out of you.”

“Ever the romantic,” Harry said with a soft chuckle as he straightened up turned around to cradle the back of Draco's neck in his hand and draw him in for a kiss.

“I try,” Draco murmured against Harry's mouth.

“C'mon,” Harry said roughly, “I'm sure I can find a few uses for that mouth of yours that don't involve Slytherin-style snark.”

“Hmm, promises, promises,” Draco responded, his mouth stretching in a grin as he took Harry's hand and led him upstairs.

 

Their bedroom was dark, but the soft glow from the street lamps that filtered in their window illuminated the room enough, and Harry quickly pulled Draco in for another kiss.

He fell back to sit on the edge of their bed and Draco instantly perched himself in Harry's lap, his mouth never leaving Harry's for long. Draco drew his wand and flicked it in a non-verbal Summoning charm, and he heard the distant clatter of the new jar of lubricant zoom upstairs, and Draco's arm shot out to catch it. Harry grinned and tugged at the elegant black robes his boyfriend had donned for their dinner.

“As far as I am concerned, you are wearing _far_ too many layers,” Harry murmured, while Draco moved his hands to the bottom of Harry's new jumper.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said smoothly, and Harry lifted his arms, allowing the blond to peel both his jumper and T-shirt off in one movement, and groaned when Draco's hot mouth latched onto the hollow of his neck, and Harry struggled to stay focused long enough to unbutton Draco's robes.

The robes dropped off of him, and Harry ran a hand up Draco's bare abdomen, across his chest, and to the side of his neck. He could both see and feel Draco's erection straining against his trousers, and grinned when he pressed the heel of his free hand against it, eliciting a delightful groan from him.

“Harry...please...” Draco murmured, his breathing becoming haggard, and Harry grinned in response.

“I love it when you beg,” Harry said by way of response, shifting back until they were both settled in the centre of the bed, and he turned to pin Draco beneath him. Harry kissed him, cutting any retort he may have been working up to off, and Harry kept himself balanced on one arm while the other trailed down Draco's front to thumb open the top button of his trousers. He broke the kiss for a moment, smiling down at his partner as he fumbled with the uncooperative zip.

“Sometimes it amazes me that you weren't sorted into Slytherin...” Draco mumbled as he fell back against the duvet, arching his hips to aid Harry in peeling the garment off. To the comment Harry barely managed to swallow a laugh; that was a revelation that could be saved for another day.

Harry wiggled out of his jeans and pants, and reached out to rub his palm roughly over the velvet skin of Draco's cock. His breath hitched and he arched into the contact, and while he perched above his lover, Harry leant down to trail his tongue along the underside of Draco's cock, eliciting a delicious moan from the blond.

Harry shifted a little, one of his hands resting against the top of Draco's thigh, the other reaching out to play with his balls while he closed his lips over the tip of Draco's cock, the tip of his tongue lightly prodding at the slit, earning him another delightful moan for his efforts.

Draco breathed shallowly as Harry gradually took more of his cock into his mouth, his hips jerking weakly when the tip brushed the back of Harry's throat. Harry hollowed his cheeks, revelling in the musky, masculine taste of him, and slowly began to bob his head.

Draco let out a frustrated whine a few moments later when Harry pulled back, licking his lips like a cat with a bowl of cream, and reached for the little jar, unscrewed the lid, and slicked up his fingers.

His mouth found Draco's again, and their tongues tangled together in a messy kiss, while Harry's fingers trailed down Draco's front, past his cock and balls, and found his lover's puckered hole.

Draco groaned appreciatively when Harry's index finger breached the tight ring of muscle, turning his head momentarily away as he let out a soft moan of pleasure, enthusiastically bearing down on Harry's finger.

“Slow down,” Harry said with a chuckle, drawing his partner in for another kiss. “We have all night.”

“It's difficult to be patient when you are such an infuriating tease,” Draco grumbled between soft gasps, and Harry grinned in answer. If his snark had returned Harry knew that usually meant that he was sufficiently prepared, and he removed the digit in favour of slicking up his cock. He made a show of slowly setting the lubricant aside on the night table, while Draco squirmed and whined impatiently beneath him.

Harry at last indulged him, lifting his legs to rest Draco's calves against his shoulders, and held onto his hips as he lined himself up with the blond's hole. Draco arched his neck and groaned as Harry slid in, and once fully sheathed inside his partner he leant forward, virtually folding Draco in half as he stole another warm, wet kiss.

“I love you,” Harry murmured, smiling when the words were met with a warm, open smile.

“I love you too,” Draco whispered in response, then his expression shifted back to his usual smirk. “But if you don't get on with it, I might be forced to take it back.”

Chuckling, Harry readjusted his position and withdrew from Draco's arse, then slid back in smoothly. Draco groaned, his delicious muscles clenching around Harry's cock as he slowly built up a rhythm.

Draco lurched up to kiss Harry again, while Harry continued to pound into him, each thrust met with a tiny grunt of pleasure, they raising dramatically in volume when Harry adjusted his position and found Draco's prostate.

Harry could feel himself getting close, and he slowed his pace long enough to shift their position, and Draco turned to balance himself on all fours as Harry entered him again, and Draco closed his hand over his own weeping erection. Harry's grunts of exertion and pleasure hit their peak, just as Draco let out a keening moan of his own, and they both found their release at almost exactly the same moment.

 

Harry's back arched as he shot his load into Draco's waiting arse, while Draco spilt his seed all over the bedspread and sweat-soaked, the pair tumbled down onto the soiled sheets. Harry reached a boneless arm out to grab his wand and clean up the mess, while he slowly extracted himself from Draco's spent bottom.

It was only then did they hear a soft whine come from the end of the bed and they turned, too exhausted to move, and watched as Harry's new puppy strove to clamber up with them, his little head coming into view as he jumped up, then disappearing just as quickly. Draco turned in Harry's arms, spent and happy, while they watched the pup try again and again to leap up with them, only to whine when he discovered that he was too little to manage it on his own.

Finally taking pity on the pup, Harry waited until Padfoot tried again, then used a levitation charm to help him the rest of the way up. Draco yanked the duvet from under them and drew it over them, while Padfoot happily curled up at their feet.

Draco was soon asleep, his limbs tangled with Harry's, while Harry lay awake a while longer, watching as snow began to drift past the window. He listened to Draco's soft, even breathing, and Padfoot's occasional contented sigh as they slept on.

Harry removed his glasses and set them aside. He drew Draco closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, marvelling at his easy grace, his beauty, even flushed, sweaty, and mussed from their lovemaking. Harry settled down slowly, unable to swallow a chuckle of laughter as the little canine wormed his way in between himself and Draco before curling up again. It felt so familial, so perfect., and Harry couldn't wait to spend more Christmases like this with Draco by his side.

  

-Fin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Special thanks to my delightful braintwin KuriQuinn for helping me come up with a decent summary for this fic! <3 You're a star.


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